Feuilly is familiar enough with farm dogs around Lyon, and the various dogs you run into in Paris--lapdogs, strays, dogs that guard shops or carts--but he's no hunter. His sense of medieval English dogs is that they--chased boars and hares and unicorns?

He doesn't really notice that Harry has slowed for him; he's too busy looking all around while trying not to stare too obviously. "What is the nearest town? Are these mostly people who live here at the castle, or people coming with deliveries--?"